


The Candle Flame

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Angst, Dinner, Dinner Date, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Foreshadowing, Love, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, makeshift date, sex mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: A request for the writing prompt, “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”
Relationships: Diana Farley/Shade Barrow
Kudos: 12





	1. Dusk

**Farley POV**

* * *

**By the time** the setting sun’s light begins to slant in, I’ve been sitting still for hours. Back straight, rifle perched on my legs, I keep watch at the lookout at the notch’s back entry.

Its door is small, well-hidden and not optimal for a fast and safe evacuation of the twenty-odd people currently residing in the notch. It’ll have to make do, of course, like all Scarlet Guard safe houses as well as our equipment.

To be honest, I don’t expect infiltration from here. The exit isn’t even watched 24/7; on top of Farrah muting any sounds we might produce, a watch patrolling the grounds is considered enough.

_I _am the one to consider that, obviously. I chose to be here. Alone. Huddled deep in the silence Farrah sinks over the woods because I had the faint hope that if no sounds surround me, then my mind will stay quiet as well.

It works, almost. I’m used to emptying my head when I wait and wait. Part of the job on an operative. It can be meditative or giving me space to concentrate, to look ahead and plan.

The latter is what leads me askew. I can’t think without seeing the dead family from yesterday. Can’t see them without reviving the sight of _my_ dead family four years ago. And I can’t remember my family without –

I grab the rifle tighter and take several deep breaths. I thought I’ve seen enough dead bodies but they always get at you. As I can’t help the foreboding fear the slaughtered little baby caused me.

In a way, I was glad for Mare freaking out. She gave me all the reason to stay calm myself and act swift- and safely.

Mare cuddled into Cal as a result, we all saw it. I told him about the raid we’d witnessed, to look after Mare when she avoided Shade and Kilorn. Seems like the prince had more success.

It was all that _I_ could do for her. Have an eye on the team. Encourage them to help each other. Care for their needs. Basically, still barking orders.

This morning was the same. Overseeing and preparing, walking the grounds with my not-quite-smirk, not-quite-frown expression on my face. The hunters must be setting out by now, searching game in the twilight forest to find us food for tomorrow. Housekeeping, hunting and training, that’s what fills this day both calm and on edge. No one is in haste for another operation but it’ll arrive soon enough. Our ragtag group cannot afford to be idle for long.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I had to stop playing pretend that I was alright, I took the chance to come here.

* * *

**Today’s dinner must** be cooking right now and I can almost smell it, taste it on my tongue. Suddenly, the hunger is upon me and waking absurd fantasies regarding our dinner. I chew on my lips. Kilorn jokes that you can only be hungry or sick but he has no idea how literally I feel these ways lately. I crave food. I can’t look at it. I …

There’s a change of air against the back of my neck. I rise and get in stance although I know there shouldn’t be an enemy behind me –

Someone whistles right beside my ear and covers my eyes. A cry escapes my throat and I ram my elbow behind me, my other hand reaching for the assailant but I grab into nothing because they’re gone, invisible even as I spin on my heels.

They – no, _he_ – is already on my other side, and on another yet again. The corners of my mouth twitch. I put down the rifle and I move with him, yet I merely catch glimpses of his shadow and the grin on his face. I must be wearing the same on mine.

I know this game, our personal sparring that is both a dance and a duel. I try to anticipate and fight him, he jumps away. If he wants to attack me, he risks my superior fighting skills while I can only guess where he will be by grasping the patterns of his movements. I shift and duck, enjoying the exertion as much as the taunting touches he leaves on me.

He prides himself on always catching me in the end.

And I long to be found.

Finally, my instincts scream at me to step forward to my left. He has to be there and as fast as lighting, my arm extends to grab him at the chest.

Instead, my hand is pushed back and I startle as Shade jumps forward another yard at the last moment. I bite back another squeal, to protect my pride but also because he stops my stumbling by gathering me in an embrace, hugging me close.

_The bastard._

We pant at the contact, the end of our battle. Inches from each other, we breathe the same air.

“Cheat,” I sneer after a few seconds. He chuckles. I pull at his shirt and choke his laughter with a kiss.

He leans into it greedily. His hands reach up, over the curve of my spine to my shoulder blades. For a second, his fingertips tickle the back of my neck.

I moan and let my mouth travel along his jawline. “Make me forget,” I murmur between kisses.

When his hold tightens, I believe he’s going to give in, touching me until I know nothing but the present and the intimacy between us.

Instead he grows tense. He pulls away, not breaking our embrace but drawing back so much we can stare at each other.

I tense as well, if only not to reveal my turmoil. We’d be perfectly serious, if not for our hugging; grave comrades, if not for his thumb brushing my cheek.

“I should’ve come with you,” he says.

I shake my head ever-so-slightly – it offers me the chance to break eye contact. “You were limping again. Your ankle – “

“A limp doesn’t matter to me.”

His gaze catches mine again. I know he means his teleporting, as I know being able to teleport isn’t the same as being in perfect health. I also know that Shade is right, we need him now that Harrick has made clear, even without saying it out loud, that he won’t join our operations again.

I am aware of all that but what I focus on is how similar we are, Shade and I. Both we are raised by the responsibility the cause gives us, both we feel its weight.

He is my partner, my equal, in all regards.

I’m intensely aware of my palms on his waist, the warmth and shape of his body. Of his breathing.

I clear my throat, evading his eyes. “I’m okay,” I say, shaking my head to get a tress of hair out of my face. “You should look after Mare” – he winces – “or Harrick, or Ada.”

The mention of his sister has scored a hit, obviously, he’s tried and failed to talk to her. But he recovers quickly and I realize he’s done all of that already. Shade Barrow knows to how to care for his comrades, in many regards.

Because he is a better friend than I am.

“I’ve come to you,” he says, and there it is again, his yearning, his desire. For me. I feel his touch on my shoulders but more than that, it speaks of the depth of what he feels for me – and I for him.

Shade means more to me than anyone else in the last years.

I haven’t let anyone else get this close to me. I did what I had to, became who I had to be. For survival, to go on, to make a few victories, how little they were.

It’s not enough any longer.

I’m not enough.

I recognize it. I'll have to pry my heart open. I have change, once more, for him, for –

I swallow, as if to keep in all I need to tell him, what I haven’t told anybody. I don’t even know where to start.

I look up. “Shade,” I begin carefully. Sadness and hesitation swing in my voice.

Suddenly, he startles. He lifts his hands to cup my face, making it impossible for me to turn my eyes away. “Don’t try this, Diana,” he grumbles. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it."

I realize he misunderstood and it’s my fault. Too often, I’ve played it cool and aloof. The need to reply increases. His stare would be enough to claim my full attention, even without his hands framing my face.

Almost. Heat rushes to my head in further embarrassment. I want to give in and reassure and kiss him and _get on,_ but as his words reverberate through my mind, my thoughts speed back to the suspicions plaguing me, to the question I both want answered and to run from.

As I open my mouth to agree, no reply but only laughter escapes. _Not just friends_.

_If only, Shade, if only_.

Do you have any idea _how much_ more we are – could be?

Even as he frowns at me, I merely laugh harder, so hard it shakes me and I can only squint at him. I grab him tighter, bringing us chest to chest, leaning my head into his hands.

He falls in eventually, seemingly without noticing the obscure meaning behind my laughter, only the ridiculousness of his claim.

We’re not just friends and so I kiss him, hungrily, my desire for him quickly replacing my former wish for food.

That wish comes and goes so fast these days.

When we have to catch breath and our laughter dies down, I brush over his neck, my thumb caressing his cheek with its faint stubble. I lift an eyebrow. “Not good taste to dismiss the importance of friendship, Barrow,” I tease him.

He snorts. Well, who am I to talk? He has more and closer friends than me. “I’d never,” Shade insists, playfully, and our faces soften in tandem. “We _are_ friends, after all,” he concedes, but puts a finger on my lips before I can retort.

“We became friends and now we’re something else on top,” he says, like he wants to go on. But he hesitates, looking puzzled.

I wait for him, holding my breath. I am – not expecting him to share my suspicions, no. Just dying to hear how he defines us.

He swallows. “We’ve been comrades, friends, and now … we’re in love.”

I haven’t guessed how much this admission, this little word, would shake me with its truth. My heart races and so does his, as I can feel with one hand on his chest and another on his neck.

“Yes,” I breathe, almost inaudibly, before I kiss him in confirmation.

* * *

**The world sways**. Darkness falls; whether I open or close my eyes, I can only make out moving flashes of colour. I stop trying quickly. I hold on to Shade instead because I begin to understand what’s going on here, he’s teleporting us somewhere. I’d curse at him if I didn’t fear losing my breath or throwing up if I did.

It goes on and on and even with my weakness when it comes to jumping, I grasp we’re covering a longer distance. I just want it to stop and return to feeling nothing and nobody but Shade – until it suddenly does end.

It’s like dropping out of the sky and while I’m afraid of the fall for the fraction of a second, there comes no pain – as the moment I sense my surroundings again, I lie on a huge, soft bed with Shade propping himself up above me.

I blink wildly, gasping. Shade grins, even as my fingers bore into his arms as if I still fear losing contact to earth.

He bends forward to kiss my brow. “You didn’t think I’d keep making you sick, did you?” he murmurs, helping me up as he sits up on his haunches.

“What?” I say tonelessly before I realize: No nausea rising up my throat after teleporting for once. My hand lifts to me stomach nonetheless, out of reflex, as my head spins to take stock of my new surroundings. A huge room, both lavish and neglected, used – or rather out of use – and very dusty.

I look at Shade. “You’ve trained?”

He nods and I have to bite my lips. I wish he was really right about not giving me nausea anymore. In all regards.

* * *

**Shade doesn’t let** go of my hand even once we’ve risen from the bed. He holds it up, leading me like I was a Silver lady and he my dancing partner. I’d chuckle if the gesture wasn’t so entrancingly charming, to both him and me.

He brings me to the other end of the room and bids me sit at a small table covered with a white cloth – besides the bed sheets, the only furniture that appears truly clean in here.

His palms press on my shoulders in reassurance because I can’t stop glimpsing around, in every corner. It gets at me how uncanny the place is. I expect Maven’s sentinels to appear, or an old Silver hiding in the abandoned house.

The image of a lone Silver reminds me of the time I encountered one before, in the night that resulted in the scar on my face, and Shade and I –

Inadvertently, I seek Shade’s eyes at the memory and as if he can read my thoughts, he blushes along with me.

“You don’t have to worry, Dee, I’ve scouted the manor for a while,” he says. He’s rounding the table, flattening the cloth to fight his irresistible nervousness. Slowly, a smile spreads over his face and the next time he reaches me, he whispers in my ear, “for now, this is our palace.”

Shade pulls candles out of his backpack and I follow him with my eyes as he lights and places them around us. “Unfortunately, there’s no electricity,” he says. “No running water either.”

As yet, the sunset lasts, casting a bright orange light from the windows. The sun and the flames array Shade in a warm halo belying his name.

Hadn’t he told me to stay seated, I’d be too transfixed to move either way. He’s so beautiful. I long to stay in this dream he turned this evening into. Forget the bloodshed of the morning and hide with him from the world and the future.

But _that_ is only a dream.

I laugh in rejoice when he presents the food he took from the notch. Damn, I might’ve ignored it for a while, but I’m still hungry. The air is filled with the smells of spices and cooked venison, decorated with mushrooms and vegetables, all served on the same wrappers they were brought in here.

“I got the table here, but it would’ve taken too long to search for and clean the silver plates,” Shades apologizes as he sits down opposite me.

I shake my head and squeeze his hand. “No matter. It’s better this way.”

“The food has gotten cold enough already?” he teases.

I shrug, smiling back at him. I can’t wait to eat, to enjoy, devour, this dinner and not giving my unpredictable stomach a chance to change its mind on the food.

I eat careful and slowly for the same reason, taking my fill but not more. Food alone can’t sate me either way. During the meal, our fingers find each other over the table to play and tangle, and our gazes do the same.

The candlelight becomes him. It reveals new colours in his sable hair, hues of dark brass and bronze, and brings out the warm tones of his brown skin as well as the elegant lines of his face.

Does my face disclose my yearning as much as his?

In my ears, the ring of our laughter, the sound of his voice, shift into a kind of music that is both enticing and existing only for us.

* * *

**When our makeshift** plates are empty, I rise from my chair and go to Shade’s. He twists in his seat and I sit down on his lap. I kiss him, tasting him as much as the residues of the delicious meal. His hands go to my hips, my fingers dig into his back. For a while. It’s not easy, but I pull away and get up, smirking.

He grins back. “Time to clean up.” He understands the game well enough, the procrastination of lust. We remove the traces of our dinner, even carry away the table.

Whenever our eyes meet, it pierces like a knife.

Whenever we touch, by accident, it is electrifying.

The draw between us grows stronger by the second. When we’re done cleaning up, there’s only us, the candles, and the bed. I stand before him, letting the last of our things drop into his bag without looking. I have only eyes for him.

“Well,” I begin, having no mind for further words.

He doesn’t need any. He smiles with his hands on my waist, and in the next moment he pins me against the wall, kissing me.

I feel his fingers on the naked skin of my waist; so fast has he found his way under my shirt. When we gasp for breath, I use the second of pause to spin us around, pinning Shade against the wall around the corner.

His laughter tingles between our tongues. I moan as his fingertips press deeper into the muscled flesh on my back; I love it when he touches me there.

In a frenzy, always keeping in touch with some body part or other, we step away from the corner, shedding out shirts and loosening our belts as we inch for the bed. It’s like both a dance and a duel – like the sparring fight we had before – and neither, just us, Shade and me.

When the backs of my legs tackle the high bed, I fall behind, holding on only by my hands on Shade’s waistband. He doesn’t let me down. He takes my wrists and pulls me forward, then heaves me up by my hips.

I yelp. Only them do we fall on the foot of the bed. I want him closer, caressing his spine and butt and kissing his neck but first he props himself up by his elbows, then he presses his palm on my stomach, between my ribs.

My eyes widen, locking with his.

_Does he guess?_

His gaze is intense and questioning like mine. I breathe against the weight of his hand and he feels it, I can see. My cheeks heat as the colour deepens in his. It’s strangely intimate, enthralling. The moment lasts long and even though the unsettling question returns to my mind, I cherish every second of t.

“You’re both soft and strong,” he marvels softly. Finally, he removes his hand and lets it glide over my sides to slowly shove off my rousers.

I smile as I sit up to unclasp my bra. “Thanks for the compliment,” I reply before I let my fingers wander over his chest in return. “I’m sure,” I say with certain awe, “that many people told you how beautiful you are, too.”

From the corners of my eyes, I glimpse his face as I kiss him. His smile is shy and precious. “They weren’t you,” he whispers, very quietly.

* * *

**He goes down** on me, not even alluding to penetration or mentioning condoms – as if that’s not safe enough. I want to cackle. I should say, “no need for concern, it’s already too late.”

I’ve seen it, how his expression wavered when he leaned atop me, just before he made that compliment. Instead I surrender to the pleasure he gives me. I follow suit, using only my hands and mouth to make him come.

It’s easier this way, on this evening we grant ourselves to forget our fears, be they small or large, private or shared by our allies.

* * *

**“I’d like to** sleep here,” I admit eventually, knowing we should return to our duties at the notch. But I’m tired and this night so perfect. Shade has to feel the same as his longing expression is enough of an answer.

I put my shirt back on for warmth as he extinguishes the candles, every one but the last which goes out right when we lie down in a hug, he behind me and pressing a kiss on the back of my neck as we snuggle in the blankets.

I ignore how sensitive my breasts are to his touch, switching from treat to discomfort and back again from one second to another. Just as I ignore how I change from energized to exhausted, hungry to nauseous, generally.

The biggest cowards are those who lie to themselves.

* * *

**He wakes me** with a pat on my shoulder and a kiss on my chin. _Or did I dream that? _A yawn escapes my throat and I blink furiously against the candle on the nightstand he’s lit again. Shade’s gaze is warmer than it.

I moan against the lingering sleepiness and sit up. Then it’s no longer just sleepiness – my sight wavers and my sense of balance shatters as the nausea rises.

I jump up despite it and rush to the adjacent bathroom. There might be no running water but a drain is a drain. I bend over and retch.

Shade follows. He gathers my hair out of my face and draws circles over my back. It’s soothing, even when the heaving stops. His palm stays on the small of my back as I get up carefully.

He hands me a bottle of water and I drink gratefully, rinsing my mouth and flushing the sink with it.

My heart still beats too fast. Delicately, I hold on to his arms.

The corners of his mouth twitch. He lifts his head to kiss my brow, waits, and kisses me on the mouth. Blood rushes to my head. I can’t taste nice and l feel a lick of shame over throwing up – part of – our dinner.

He doesn’t care about that. He cares about me.

I hug him tight. “I love you.”

The words spill out by themselves. I’m shocked by them as I know they’re true.

Shade is similarly aghast. And yet, mixed with his startlement is this innate determination of his. I’ve seen this face on him often – and often, I am a cause of it. Sometimes, he seems surprised by it himself, by how far he’s come and how far he could go. It bespeaks both his innocence and commitment and it’s drawn me to him from the moment we met.

He cups my head in his hands. “I love you too, Diana,” he says.

His tenderness is piercing. I bury my face in his chest so he can’t see my quivering lip. Why do I even want to hide it though – because I’m used to bottle up my emotions?

That bottle began to fracture the moment we met, too. In truth, I want more. Crave more. More than quick fucks in the shadows of days and nights filled with planning, fighting, running.

I want a life.

I look up to his eyes and wish to find his earnest, loving gaze on me every time I fall asleep or wake up, without fearing it’ll be the last time. I imagine the last evening wasn’t a dream or an escape but our real future where we can cook together in a safe place we’ve made our own, along with our family.

I close my eyes, resisting the temptation to kiss him into oblivion. The time for forgetting and evasion is over. If I want to bring about a different world, I can’t run away from myself.

Shade’s lips brush my temple as I move. I shake my head ever so slightly and lead him back to the bed where we sit down. I don’t look at him. I clench and unclench my fists, breathing heavily.

“I’ve missed my period,” I say. Silence. No answer but a choked breath.

“It should’ve come around the time of the Sun Shooting,” I continue. “I didn’t even notice until weeks later. And then …” I grimace. “Well, if I was too stressed out to notice, maybe I was too stressed out for my period as well.” I suppress a cackle, blindly searching for Shade’s hand. I can feel his fast pulse.

Quietly, I go on. “But there’s still … nothing, after two months.” I clear my throat and finally turn to Shade. “You know what that could mean?”

I frown at him yet my hand squeezes his. Waves of emotions flicker over his face but he tries so hard to stay calm. Just like me. He swallows. “You … might be pregnant.”

“_Might_,” I insist. He nods reluctantly.

I fall back on the bed, balling my fists against my eyes. Shade lies down beside me. His touch, his presence, always so tender and soothing when we are together. So soft as if daunted and yet exactly what I need.

I know a different side of him as well though: when we stand side by side, watching our backs before the enemy.

His voice is a similar kind of caress. “Is that what you want?” It’s a whisper filled with understanding and the wish to understand more yet. I yearn him to. I’ve let him in and don’t want him to let go.

“I couldn’t have a child at the notch,” I say in a decidedly neutral voice. “Nor care for one. We don’t have …” I sigh. “My mother almost died of a fever after my sister was born. It was mere luck we could get medicine in time.” I glance at Shade.

“The notch was never an option to stay at forever,” he says slowly. But his voice lifts at the end of the sentence. Slightly, yet the hint of a question nonetheless. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand.

I know. I know what I didn’t say, what I haven’t denied. No “I don’t want a child”, and he realized that.

I didn’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want to be afraid for a baby.

I’ve ignored the signs, brushed off my suspicions because I wanted them to be false.

But that are also the only “nos” in my mind.

_I’m not sure._

_Maybe not._

_I can’t be certain._

I’ve wished not to be pregnant in the first place because that would be the easiest way. Yet if I accept it – just for a second, just a little bit – to be true … I feel a small surge of protectiveness. My palm glides from my ribs over my abdomen to my though. I look at the candle flame burning low.

If I bled right now, be it my belated period or an early miscarriage, I’d feel both relief and loss.

Shade inches closer to me. His gaze earths me. “What happened to your mother and sister?” he asks, tucking a curl behind my ear. He already knows about my father who’s cold and uncaring toward me and everyone else. There is still so much to tell him.

I swallow. “They died,” I reply tonelessly. I close my eyes and the light of the candle flame still burns on my eyelids.

When I open my eyes, the candle has gone out.

“Shade. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He holds me tighter. “And I’m with you, Diana.”


	2. Dawn

**Shade POV**

* * *

**I dream of** the first time I met her.

I – my dream self – both know and don’t know she’s there, hiding and waiting on the overgrown ledge. As our little group walks up to the arranged spot, I crane my neck toward it, eager to glimpse our elusive allies. Florins, who must’ve noticed my spying in the last curve, turns her head back to glare at me, jutting down her chin to remind me to keep my eyes on the ground, to stay in line and follow in her footsteps.

I hold her gaze while it lasts. Reese in front of me snorts, but doesn't look behind. It’s the tension all four of us share. It’s been running in our blood for months, if not, for some of us, years. Too high on adrenaline and too often harmed and betrayed, no Red nortan soldier was quick to join in the conspirative meeting. There aren’t many more willing to rise up, period. Even among the few people Eastree dared to propose to make contact with rebels, she found only us three agreeing to go to the meeting.

“Don’t let them see how few we are,” Eastree told us before we left camp, “four is a good number for this.”

Another safety measure among many. To stay safe – _alive_ – we need to be unremarkable, careful, and attentive, for the dangers of the war, of the enemies and from our own officers. I _can't_ keep my eyes on the ground, even though my head stays down. Every whistle in the wind has me suspect the appearance of a Silver.

Ironic, in a way. And which kind of danger will the fabled Scarlet Guard pose for us?

The truth is, we don’t trust them. Rumours gone through the friend of a friend of a friend, most of them enwrapped in the criminal underworld like Will Whistle, carried the notion of the Scarlet Guard as the censored news never would.

But we’re criminals too, now, as are the Scarlet Guard. And the Scarlet Guard are _lakelanders_, on top of that.

Nortan Silvers would love to report of unrest and protest in the enemy country if they weren’t more afraid of their own Reds getting inspiration from foreign rebels.

_I’d _love to bring it over in their stead.

I’d love if I could be _sure_ that’s what we’re doing here, too.

There are a multitude of options how this could go awry. We could be caught, of course. Or this whole meeting could be a trap.

I should be used to marches like this that might result in my death but my relatively safe weeks as an aide have sunk in. My heartbeat races as we approach the ledge – and finally, I see the other group, including their rifles pointed at us.

_ A trap a trap a trap_

Someone climbs down to “welcome” us, a tall woman of light colouring unusual in Norta.

_At least she looks like a lakelander_, I remind myself. So does one of her companions and yet I feel no relief. If an officer the least bit interested in the Red soldiers got whiff of insurgents, they’d do everything to find and exterminate us. And if they got brains, they’d make us sing first and how better to do that than by infiltration by fake rebels from the enemy country?

If this was a scam by the Silvers, why shouldn’t they pick a decoy looking distinctively lakelandian to lull the traitors – us – they want to catch? The collaboration alone is enough to get us hanged, we all know that, yet we are here.

_Has the lakelander woman there the same fears? _

She doesn’t show it. We’re as close as we’re going to get and I see she’s even taller than I thought, the same height as me but bigger all in all. She’s also surprisingly young, hardly older than me, and quite pretty. She doesn’t wear a uniform, neither nortan nor lakelandian.

Has she ever ducked in the trenches and shot at other Reds, like us? Is she even a soldier?

But no, I can’t imagine her a rookie. She’s too casual and confident, versed in matters like this. Whoever she fights for, she’s a soldier through and through. Her composure is strong and sure, her eyes are assessing us coolly.

I avoid her gaze to find her comrades’ guns. _They _are the threat we can’t overlook. If the woman with the pretty face was the luring distraction, the others were the trap to snap shut sooner or later.

It could be the other way round too, though. The Lakelands sending out false rebels to stir up trouble in the nortan army. Although, were that the plan, the Cygnets would also risk inciting their own population. Unless the rebel operatives were instructed to wreak the greatest havoc and appear terrifying enough to throw off …

Eastree speaks up and all present twitch in their own way. The rebel leader, swaggering, puts her hand on the pistol on her hip while her male comrade starts, just a little bit. It offers a clearer image of them. They aren’t utterly cold and detached yet professional enough to keep focus. A safe, relieving attitude.

They are soldiers like me. But can that bridge the trenches of enmity between us, our countries warring for a hundred years? One of them, the other woman, I suspect for her scars, has likely fought in this war. Killed nortans like us, just like we killed her comrades on commands from the enemies we share.

The enemies that should unite us.

I can’t look at her and glance back at the leader. She plays it cool but eventually, I find the signs of her own nervousness, too. She isn’t certain of this either, yet she’s willing to risk it.

I want to trust her. Trust that she needs people like me and that she has motivation going beyond orders she can’t deny. I want the rebellion to be real. But if she’s suspicious of us, for the same things I’ve considered, she still might not let us go: If it’s truly the rebellion she wants to protect, would she silence us by death out of mistrust?

When Eastree calls out our names, I step forward and stare at the rebel. If she wants to kill us, she has to do it while looking into my eyes. I know firsthand how hard it is to shoot a person who has a name and a face.

“I’m Barrow. Shade Barrow. And you better not get me killed,” I say sharply. Too late I realize it doesn’t sound angry, but cocky, like a joke. One that doesn’t make her smile, no – but though her eyes narrow, the corners of her mouth lift enough to see the impression I’ve made.

“No promises,” she retorts.

I didn’t expect one. But I believe she understands.

I believe we follow the same cause. What she believes, I don't know. Her face freezes for an endless second until all falls away.

* * *

**I wake, gasping **silently. The memories linger freshly in my mind even though six months have passed. So little time, but how far we’ve come in the meantime.

In the dark and damp room, I snuggle deeper into my pillow on the thin mattress. To think I’ve been afraid of being killed by the same woman who’s hugging me from behind right now, the two of us sleeping with our bodies pressed against each other like spoons. I sigh, closing my eyes for one moment more. Another memory rises, from last night when Diana sat down on my lap and we made love. Maybe we shouldn’t, curb ourselves; we’d warning enough. Yet. Neither me nor Diana can deny this wild desire that is either fear of death or lust for life. If we lose everything, we’ll have had these moments. Her legs encircled my hips, her hand rested on my chest, close to my shoulder as if to measure my heartbeat. The whole time, her eyes fixed mine. Even when the waves of her orgasm ran through her, even when I came a few seconds later. The whole time, we didn't talk, even agreeing on a condom went without words despite all we have to talk about. What we've got into. What we could be. What we should do.

Falling out of night's peace, the return of day's weight makes me groan. The arm I lie on is pins and needles, with the other I pull our entwined hands to my mouth, kissing Diana’s knuckles. Her fingers are coarse, callused and harder than mine. As always, a whiff of gunpowder sticks to them.

Does the move rattle her? Suddenly, her breath against my neck becomes stronger. I can almost feel her eyes opening and looking ahead.

The silence continues and I realize that she yawns. “Time,” she mutters eventually, with a note of excited anticipation in her voice. She shifts and kisses the line between my neck and jaw and then she glides from the bed while I’m still blinking myself awake.

I groan when she turns on the small but bright light over the door. As I still struggle for morning shape, Diana refreshes herself and puts on clothes, humming. She’s strangely elated and not sick at all. My head spins. Does that mean something? Were her hunches wrong? She stretches, only in trousers and bra. If she’s pregnant, she’s certainly not showing yet. (Would she?) She’s had large breasts before but rather lost a little weight here at the notch. Still big and curvy-shaped over muscles long-worked for, she might be somewhat leaner. Though the biggest change from my dream is her hair, neither a long braid nor cropped short but just reaching over her ears in yellow waves. She shakes them out of her face all the time; I wonder when she’ll cut them off in annoyance.

I smile – now she _is_ fussing over her hair. The next moment, she stands over me, arms akimbo.

I slouch up, draping the pale blanket over my brown chest decoratively. Diana takes in my sight with joy, obviously. She’s frozen, her lips slightly open. I can’t help chuckling, thinking of the time she caught me staring at her like that. Soon she catches herself. She crouches next to the mattress. She’s serious now but - without needing to look - our hands clasp.

Her other hand musses my hair. I grimace. “Good morning, Barrow,” she says, “training time.”

I nod slowly. Of course. The next mission throws its shadow, mere two days left until we’ll storm the Corros Prison.

Diana frowns with the gloom of impatience. I clear my throat. “Give me a sec,” I say. “But you, are you … umm …” I'm not sure how to say it. Until the night in the manor, I could pretend there was no terror in risking our lives.

She squeezes my hand and I find her eyes. “It’s okay,” she assures me.

_Okay_. Whatever that means.

The corners of her mouth twitch. “Ready?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. Yet she doesn’t wait for an answer and pulls me up and into a kiss. I wish it was so easy to be “ready” as to sink into Diana’s embrace. To be a parent, as well as going to war. But I know that this has likely been exactly the bound between Diana and me right from the start. If I saw what I could be under the yoke of the Silvers, she made me certain to take it. We can't be lovers without being rebels because either is an innate part of who we are.

* * *

**Through the narrow** and winding corridors of the dark notch, we head outside. The place is only half-awake; with few sounds penetrating doors but no bustling activity.

Diana’s excitement keeps on shining. She strides wearing only a thin sweater over a sleeveless top while I’m freezing in a similar attire. She’s more at home in this climate but today she’s filled with energy as sleep still tucks at me. She glances behind at me when I yawn another time and reaches back to take my hand. So I’m the first to see Crance at the notch’s front exit.

Diana starts, just stopping herself from running into him. I grin. _Not so awake after all._

“Hi Crance,” she mutters, “we’re off to exercise.”

“Captain.” Crance nods in salute.

Diana pauses in her tracks. The use of her rank has become unusual fast. I don’t know either whether to use it or not, whether Diana enjoys the show of respect or resents it now it’s been taken from her. Finally, she nods to him in return, but with arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Care to join us?”

Crance’s jaw drops and he blushes. “Oh no, I’m keeping watch here,” he replies quickly. Then he winks at me and blood rushes to my head.

“Good,” Diana says unperturbed though the corners of her mouth lift.

We go on. Did she intent to make Crance feel like a third wheel? If so, does she want our relationship to be … less secret now? Although, only to those who don’t guess it already. Her smile tells me nothing, as enticing as it is.

Outside, dawn is breaking though hidden by the twilight of a cloudy November day. Just bright enough for a run. Diana pulls off her sweater and decides on a course. I grind my teeth, wishing to start the training since that will get me warm at least. I don’t have patience for stretching, the run will have to be enough.

Diana counts down for us to start. I watch her getting ready and so she gets in front even easier than usual. She’s the better sprinter of the two of us while I need time to hit my high.

Ahead of me, she calls, “no cheating!” back at me and I suck in a breath as I try to catch up. Teleporting is a temptation to avoid at sports like this. As helpful and lifesaving as it is, I can’t rely on it alone.

My stamina kicks in as we race through the woods, now side by side, smelling the scents of the fog, the trees and each other. Diana slows as I expected and still I see it costs her to keep up. Willpower pulls her through the rest of the mile. Gasping, she points at a specific tree as the finish line.

“No cheating,” she repeats, winking.

“Promise,” I confirm with a gasp, and push for the goal, as does Diana. Focused on the goal, I reach it a length ahead of her. I moan at the end yet we both run on, slowing down step by step. Finally, Diana leans down on her knees, panting.

I sidle over to her, raising my hand to rub her back, then change my mind to muss her hair. Revenge for the morning. As she stays down, I crouch in front of her with a spin. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

She jerks up straight. “Sure,” she retorts, and walks on.

I feel like losing my footing. In this moment, I question whether the two of us have very different definitions of "okay”. Swallowing my confusion, I follow her. When she doesn’t wait, I grab her arm.

She glares. I take a breath. “When you said ‘it’s okay’ before,” I say in a low voice, “what did you mean? Have you reason … I mean, are you sure now? Do you … have news?”

She blinks at first while she figures. My mind twists as well. Was it all a mistake?

Then she snorts. “If I’m pregnant? Oh, no. I don’t know. No news there.” She shrugs.

_Shrugs._

I sigh with frustration. Does she have to be like this, so nonchalant about our future? I squeeze her arm. “Well, why don’t you find out? How can you stand not knowing!”

Her face flushes and she breaths heavily. I wonder if she’s thirsty. I wonder if she would throw the bottle if she had one right now.

She pulls away, definitely angry. She must’ve been angry for so long, we all are. She only balanced it with the adrenaline of a fight before.

Instead of that, she shouts. “Well, I’d be the one to have a baby! Of course I’d _like to know_!”

I wince, despite myself. I’ve caused this outburst and maybe I should feel sorry. I don’t. I let her shouts sink in, digest them, and a part of me enjoys that. Finally, I’ve coaxed an honest confession from her. What I feel in turn is like a better kind of pain, like a release. The pain of exertion. Of healing. Of love.

I hope she shares it.

When she’s done, I nod. She stares at me, gasping.

The silence grows between us, no words of mine to invalid hers. Yet I want to touch her, let fingers slide over her bare arms, warm from exertion, cold from the air. It’s often like that between us, a draw that’s almost magnetic. She’s a sun whose warmth I’m tempted to absorb and I withstand until I’d freeze without it.

Then there are moments like this when I’m afraid to get burned by her. If I hurt her.

So she’s the one to decide, to pull me aside with a sigh and lead us to a tree we can lean against, facing away instead of each other.

“You already said we can’t stay at the notch,” I begin tentatively.

“Hm.”

That’s enough to go on. “I’m aware Tuck might be a problem but there have to be other bases you know of. We could try one of them?” I have to think of my parents, my siblings, still on Tuck Island from where Diana's estranged father chased us away. I wish they weren't in the same place. If her father is no longer family to her, she can be with mine. But Diana hardly met them. I’m certain they’d help us, even if only by being with us. I ponder on bringing them up as I wait for Diana’s response. Time with my family has been cut short, the way we’ve been running away. I miss them. How much we have to sacrifice to survive, to –

“… I’ve considered that,” Diana replies finally.

I swallow from the rip from my thoughts. “There might be someone to give you answers, too,” I add.

I hear another “hm”, then Diana clearing her throat. “Possibly,” she says wearily. Is she blushing? My head jerks though not enough to catch her sight. I let her play this game.

“I’ll consider that,” she repeats, firmer now. “After Corros – ”

“Why?”

Now, she is the one to turn her head. I see her frown from the corners of my eyes and imagine the rest of Diana in her captain mode. “After Corros,” she goes on, “I’ll relay the locations to Ada. Maybe Cal, too. I can’t share vital intel with everyone, not when they could get caught.”

Taking that in, I wonder if she still mistrusts Cal. She appears welcoming enough to him but I know she won’t make the mistake of relying on a Calore’s promises alone twice.

“Or we could all die, of course,” she adds sardonically.

I startle. I feel for her hand and take it, damn the play. “And what if you do die?” I ask sharply.

I glimpse another look. “I’m always aware of the risk,” she says with earnest. But there is a flash of fear in her eyes. Just a little. Is she really aware what that means now, or does she ignore it?

I push away from the tree to face her. “You can’t die, Diana. I’ll make sure of it.”

She looks almost sad when she leans her head into the crook of my neck. Her hand, the one I don’t hold, embraces my back. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“You can tell me the locations. I swear to protect the information.”

She lifts her head, smiling weakly. “Then you have to protect yourself, too.”

“Obviously,” I promise. How could I not? Maybe I shouldn’t promise anything but then I could give up from the start. I’ve always used teleporting to keep people safe. It’s natural for me yet I’m also the only teleporter we know. If I had a trainer or a jumping partner, things would be different. The queenstrial and what Mare and Cal told us make clear how Silvers use nearly all possibilities of their abilities. Teleporting could easily be turned into an offensive tactic, a lethal talent. I did that, once. Perhaps I could get into Maven’s rooms and murder him in his sleep.

Am I a coward for not daring that? Am I even a soldier when I hate to kill?

I hug Diana and hold her tight. It grounds me. I’m not like air, blowing hither and thither. If I’d told her that, she’d reassure me that I’ve proved my worth to the Guard again and again. My deeds advance our cause, and daring to meet Diana has made it possible. I know that, as I know that I, we, are more than that.

I breathe in her scent, now mixed with the notes of sweat and the forest around us. In my mind circle the few conversations we had about another _more_, the question of her possible pregnancy. It loads every word Diana said with meaning I’m desperate to decipher. But maybe there is none, I fear. She’s just so reserved, relying on herself, that she’s turned her heart into a puzzle box.

She doesn’t want me to solve her like a riddle. But I can’t throw my hands up in the air either. My lips nuzzle her cheek to relax her and accordingly, she moans dreamily. “You said you don’t want to lose anyone else,” I begin. “Or did you mean you’re afraid of starting to love?”

She pulls back, aghast. “Of loving someone you might lose,” I clarify.

“I figured,” she snaps. She’s still in my embrace but I’m very aware of the space she’s put between us, as well as the hardening press of her hands on my sides. “And I said,” she goes on, pausing for emphasis. Her eyes wander as she gathers herself and when they turn on me again, she concludes, “I said I love you. I mean that.”

“And – ”

“And I’ll love our child,” she rejoins. Without a doubt. Then her face darkens once more and her head lowers so our foreheads touch. “I am afraid,” she murmurs. “So afraid.”

“Yes,” I soothe her. “It’s okay. I’m with you.” I’ve said it so often. I believe it. She must know it. What else I can give her, I am not so sure. It certainly affords more bravery. “I’m frightened too,” I say. “Every day, I just keep going because you, Mare, the others are with us.” She cackles lightly in agreement, filling the one more moment I need. I remember the dangerous woman from my dream, the one I've been afraid of and trusted nonetheless."The same applies to you, Diana. You aren't alone, no matter what. And fear ... we have to accept fear. It's the only way to live with it."

She gasps, her eyelids fluttering. But she doesn’t speak. Foreheads touching, we stand still, our breaths fogging and intermingling. What is there to say? Words alone can’t shatter the obstacles ahead of us. Aware of them looming, we grasp this moment of resting together.

Diana’s fingers start play with mine but instead of clasping them, I lift my hand to her abdomen.

Her eyes widen. “There’s nothing to ‘feel’ for,” she warns.

I catch her gaze. “Let me,” I say in a soft voice. She swallows but nods, her face intense in a way I can’t define.

She was right. Her hitched breath is all I can feel. She feels like always, the curve of her belly, soft flesh and strong muscles beneath. I can only imagine a tiny being, if there is one, as ephemeral as a candle flame. It could go out as easily, especially with the way we’re living. And yet. It withstood so far. I hope it’s as brave as us.

The realization of the thought hits me. I want it. To protect it, and the future it entails. I want to be with Diana and for us to be safe.

She said she will love it. No “would”, although she keeps up her claim of uncertainty. As if it’s certain we’ll have a child one day; if not now, then later when this world might be another.

Though I imagine our child to be brave, I also wish it won’t have to be.

Diana watches, however much she can read in my face. “I think I’ll love it too,” I whisper, and she smirks. She squeezes my hand and caresses my cheek with the other.

The concern lingering in her expression pulls me out of my reverie for good. “Diana, if you need anything, I’ll get it for you,” I promise, knowing it could be _anything _if she wished for it. I want her to know that, that I’d support her in every case. Even though she seems to as good as have made up her mind.

She nods slowly.

“I mean,” I continue, “I’ll also … do whatever you ask for.”

“‘Do’?” She raises her eyebrows.

I make a face. Of course, she’s asked me to do many things as my handler. I close and open my eyes. “I trust you to know what’s best. For you, us. But if you don’t trust … want to confide in …” I’m unsure how to phrase it which further confuses her. I sigh. “In case you want to pull out of a mission,” I say, “I’ll back you. And would veil the reason.”

She almost grins. She wasn’t prepared to be amused but now she is.

_Well done, Barrow, unintended transition._

Her grin widens. “Thanks for the offer. But not just yet, as you know.” I incline my head. “So you’re positive about Corros, Barrow?” she asks.

I smile back. “Absolutely.”

She stares at me silently. No longer joking, her brow lowers. Suddenly, a breeze sighs around us to remind us of the cold morning. “There are never absolutes,” Diana says, her tone grave. "No promises."

“That’s why we think of contingencies and plan ahead,” I say, reviewing our conversation.

She nods, tucking back a rebellious curl. “We do,” she confirms. Then she smiles and clasps my hand, pulls me close to whisper another plan into my ear. It’s brilliant, yet easy to follow. Our lips meet and still kissing, we head off to mould unknown futures into realities.


End file.
